


Regna Terrae

by PuppiesRainbowsSadism



Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV), Supernatural
Genre: F/M, M/M, Possession, Superwholock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-23
Updated: 2013-09-23
Packaged: 2017-12-27 09:19:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/977094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PuppiesRainbowsSadism/pseuds/PuppiesRainbowsSadism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The thing is, with their line of work, not much surprises them anymore. A few exceptions:  Seeing the Colt in action for the first time. Cas appearing in the back seat. The TARDIS flying across the highway and crashing into the wheat field beside the road. That was definitely a first."</p><p>Basically, the Doctor's been possessed, the exorcism doesn't work, I found some kind of alien Bible conspiracy and couldn't shut up about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Regna Terrae

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lokifalls](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=lokifalls).



> For lokifalls on Tumblr, who requested a Superwholock fic where Ten gets himself possessed, with Sam/Dean, Ten/Rose, and John/Sherlock. Sorry if this is a little Winchester-heavy. They ARE the experts in the field, though.
> 
> This doesn't flow well at all, and I kind of wish I had divided it into chapters. But dammit, I know what "one-shot" means, even if this is the longest one I've ever written.
> 
> Enjoy!

Silence was something the Winchesters were accustomed to. Silence was safe; it was secure. When it was silent, there were no arguments, no wrong decisions or distrust. Silence had never been uncomfortable for them, not once. So the car was silent now, each brother in furious denial of the maelstrom they had been thrown into. To some degree, Dean wished the angels had just left him in Hell. To the same degree, Sam wished Dean had just killed him when he asked, or, better yet, had left him dead in the first place. Whether they consciously realised it or not, this silence was an invitation. If either of them needed to get anything off his chest – anything at all – the other would listen.  
The silence remained unbroken. Dean drove on, leading the Impala down the endless stretch of road before them – miles and miles of asphalt that they had long since stopped trying to remember. It's so mundane, so ordinary, such a common-place, every-day experience that it should feel redundant. But it never really does unless something truly surprising happens. The thing is, with their line of work, not much surprises them anymore. A few exceptions: Seeing the Colt in action for the first time. Cas appearing in the back seat.  
The TARDIS flying across the highway and crashing into the wheat field beside the road. That was definitely a first.  
Dean released Sam's hand in order to grip the steering wheel and manoeuvre them to the side of the road safely, shifting into park just as the ground trembled slightly with the impact of the crash. He spared a moment to gape openly at Sam, who was staring back with an expression that was just as freaked as Dean felt. In an unspoken agreement, they climbed out of the Impala and sprinted towards the police box, not mindful in the least of the crops they were trampling.  
The problem with fields such as these was that it was very difficult to find anything once surrounded by an endless sea of identical plants.  
“Doctor?” Sam called frantically, sweeping armfuls of wheat out of the way as he searched. “Doctor, is that you?”  
Dean rolled his eyes (because who the hell else would it be?), although he was no less worried. He hadn't seen the Doctor since before hell, but knowing what they knew about the basic construct of time, a lot could have happened since then.  
Case in point: The plume of smoke they found rising from the TARDIS.  
Sam got there first, already attempting to force the doors open when Dean came across the box. He was still shouting – “Doctor, are you in there?!” – and Dean huffed because rule number one in situations such as these was Don't Waste Your Energy. He was already stepping forward to help when, with one last effort from Sam, the doors swung open, releasing a billow of dark, ominous smoke.  
“Sam!” Dean took his turn to shout as he saw his brother stumble backwards before he couldn't see anything through the smoke.  
“I'm fine!” Sam replied, but Dean still couldn't help but worry because his brother was out of his sight, and bad things happened when he let Sammy out of his sight. He rounded the TARDIS, which was already starting to repair itself, if the way the smoke was subsiding was any indication, but Sam was already moving to meet him in the middle, half-carrying and half-dragging a very disoriented young woman. Dean couldn't see her face, but he would recognise that mop of blonde hair anywhere:  
“Rose?” he asked, the companion's appearance only making the whole experience more confusing.  
In response, she coughed – deep, wet coughs that shook her entire body. Sam spared her a look of pity before giving Dean one that said they needed to get the hell out of there.  
Dean couldn't have agreed more and led the way back to the Impala, trying not to be offended when Sam climbed in the back with Rose while he stomped on the gas pedal.

************

Rose was trembling badly. She was a strong woman – had to be in order to travel with the Doctor – so whatever had her this shaken up had to be a nightmare. Dean wanted nothing more than to hunt down whatever it was and kill it, but in order for him to do that, they had to get Rose to talk.  
Right now, she was hunched over on the bed of a shady motel room that rented by the hour, the extra blanket thrown over her shoulders and a cup of cool water held tight in both hands. This wasn’t the first time they had had to treat someone in shock. Sam was sitting next to her, rubbing her spine soothingly, and Dean had to quell the possessiveness that rose from the gesture, reminding himself that it was only a friendly one, meant to calm down the poor woman.  
After a while, the trembling stopped and the hiccups started. That was their cue that the shock had worn off into more manageable emotions.  
“My God,” she was muttering. It was unclear whether she was talking to herself or them. “Thank God I found you two. Sherlock told me where to go, but I still didn't think – ”  
“You were with Holmes?” Dean interjected. If it had been a while since he'd seen the Doctor, it had been even longer since he'd seen Sherlock.  
“Rose, talk to us,” Sam pleaded softly. “We want to help with whatever it is, but we can't unless you tell us what’s happened.”  
“It's the Doctor.” she forced out immediately, as if the information had been lingering on her tongue forever, just waiting for its cue.  
Dean shot an expression towards Sam, and Sam replied with one that mirrored exactly what he was thinking: Aliens weren't exactly their area of expertise. If it was a problem with the Doctor himself, he wasn't certain they could help.  
“He went and got himself possessed,” Rose continued, but the accompanying eye roll told them she thought the whole incident was just a stupid mistake, probably on the Doctor's part.  
“Well, that's not a problem,” Sam replied, his entire body seeming to relax in obvious relief. Possessions were entirely something they could handle. “You still know the exorcisms, right?” As it happened, the Doctor knew next to nothing about the supernatural, so the first time they parted ways, Sam had dutifully written down all the exorcisms and incantations he knew, as well as any sigils or spells he felt might come in handy. If the situation was more complicated than basic magic could fix, it was agreed that the Winchesters would be more than willing to help in person, within reason, of course. Stopping the apocalypse was kind of their top priority at the moment.  
“Yes, I know the exorcisms.” Rose's breath was beginning to even out, her hiccups quickly replaced with her normal sarcastic attitude; that eye roll was specifically directed towards them. “I've tried them all. They don't work.”  
It took both of them a good few seconds to get that notion into their heads. They don't work. How could they possibly not work? Every demon can be exorcised, even Ruby, even Lilith, even Azazel. The only exception is if the demon can't smoke out for some reason.  
“Are you sure he's possessed by a demon?” Sam asked. It took Dean a moment, but he finally caught on. There was no reason the Doctor might have agreed to an angel, unless maybe Rose's life was threatened. But the Doctor was smart; he would have been able to find an alternative option, surely.  
“Yes, I'm sure. What else could it possibly be?”  
This is where the brothers' admittedly contradicting protective nature showed itself. Rose was their friend, a fairly close one at that, and every hunter knew what happened to people who get too close to the Winchesters. Rose already knew about demons, spirits, werewolves, and wendigos, and that was okay for the most part because Sam and Dean knew how to take care of those efficiently. But angels were a new form of monster that they hadn't yet mastered. They were dangerous, more so than any of the pagan gods they had ever faced, and the last thing the Winchesters wanted to do was get their friend mixed up in the apocalypse business.  
“What colour were his eyes?” Dean asked, avoiding the question completely.  
“Um, brown.”  
“Brown?” Dean repeated in confusion. What kind of demon had brown eyes?  
“No, Rose, the demon's eyes,” Sam explained patiently. “Red, black, yellow, white . . . ”  
“I didn't actually see. That's a question for Sherlock.”  
Dean blinked at the Brit in disbelief. When she didn't have the decency to look ashamed, he exploded on her. “You left him with Holmes?” The way his voice dropped to little more than a murmur was more terrifying than if he had begun screaming.  
“Of course. I couldn't well leave him alone. And I couldn't bring him with me, so.”  
“Did you at least make sure he was trapped first?”  
Ah, there it was: The decency to look ashamed.  
“Salt lines. Devil's Traps. Anything?”  
“I left as soon as Sherlock figured out where I could find you. The Doctor was locked in John's room by then.”  
“I'm sorry, locked?” Dean repeated incredulously. “A lock ain’t gonna keep a demon in, Rose! And even if, by some miracle, it does, what happens when John comes back and finds a goddamn demon in his bedroom?! His first instinct's gonna be to shoot!”  
Rose looked stricken. Obviously, she hadn't thought that John might consider a demon in his home to be a threat. “He'll change again, of course. Reincarnate.”  
“He can't do that if he's not in control,” Sam, who had largely remained a silent observer of the exchange, reasoned calmly. “And you know he doesn't have to stay alive for the demon to keep running.”  
“Look, I know you don't want to believe it,” Dean continued sternly. “But that's not actually the Doctor. Not anymore. And there's no such thing as a harmless demon, especially not now,” he added with a pointed look towards his brother. “So we gotta take care of this, pronto.”  
Rose sighed, her jaw set stubbornly like she still wanted to argue. But when it came right down to it, there was nothing left to argue about. “Fine,” she conceded. “Right, of course. We have to help him. So what's the plan?”  
That's where Dean was at a loss. He was very rarely a Plan sort of guy, preferring to take whatever life threw at him in stride. He had no idea what to do with this, though. Fuck, he was already having to deal with the freaking Apocalypse – with a capital A – and failing majorly at that. He looked to Sam for help. His brother looked just as lost, but had that expression on his face that meant he was going to start suggesting whatever first came to mind.  
“Okay, um.” Good start. “We'll stay here a while. Give us some time to rest up and research. And the TARDIS needs to fix herself anyway, so – ”  
“We don't have time to wait, Sam,” Dean protested. Their friends' lives were at stake. It was surprising that John had left Baker Street at all, and there was no telling when he might return, or if Sherlock might decide this was an excellent opportunity for field study, or if the demon would just start killing left and right. . . .  
“It's a time machine, Dean,” Sam replied. Dean didn't need to see it; he could hear the bitchface in his tone. “We could literally take it back to ten minutes after Rose left in the first place.”  
“Bitch,” Dean shot for lack of a better comeback.  
“Jerk.”  
Rose rolled her eyes. Neither of the Winchesters saw it.

************  
Sam was dreaming. He had to be, although it was no sort of dream that he had ever experienced before. They were in some generic motel, like the hundreds and thousands they had spent their whole lives in. He tried to focus on the details of the room – the sheets, the wallpaper, the lamp – but they were difficult to focus on because of how they shifted, apparently trying to imitate every motel room he had ever seen at the same time. It was disorienting, but Dean was sitting beside him, one arm hugging Sam close by his shoulders, his free hand holding Sam's gently. The posture calmed him, grounded him in pseudo-reality.  
What was strange about it was that his dreams featuring him and Dean on a motel room bed always turned out a much different way. Far be it from Sam to complain about cuddling (or So-Not-Cuddling, as Dean liked to claim), but it was still strange.  
The instant he started to relax and settle into the embrace, Dean vanished, and Sam only barely managed to avoid faceplanting into the mattress.  
“Sam.” And oh, God, he knew that voice. But what the hell was he doing here?  
“Cas,” Sam replied in as much of a neutral tone as he could muster. He still wasn't sure how to feel towards the angel after Cas and Uriel had completely crushed any beliefs he had ever had about angels and heaven. He knew that Cas despised him, as all other angels, apparently, and that the only reason they hadn't killed him yet was because they needed Dean cooperative.  
“Why are you here?”  
“I have important information.”  
“I figured, but why are you bugging me and not Dean?”  
Cas sighed, and it was such an inherently human action that Sam's curiosity got the better of him, and he looked up. Cas was looking around the room, if anything, fascinated about the fluctuating design. He never came off as very powerful based on appearances alone, but there was the knowledge that this angel could kill him with little more than a thought lingering in the back of his mind that made him fearful. But now, Cas looked smaller than ever. This was Sam's domain, even if Cas was the more powerful being. Sam tried to keep that knowledge from going to his head.  
“Dean has made it clear that I am not welcome in his thoughts,” he answered, his eyes taking in the nightstand, lamp, clock, and finally Sam. “In any case, he will be more receptive of the information if it comes from you.”  
Which took Sam aback for several reasons. Cas was Dean's guardian angel, profound bod and all. Since when did Sam need to be the middle man?  
Still, the last thing Sam wanted to do was get on Cas's bad side.  
“Okay, so what is it?”  
The angel's gaze turned intense and meaningful, and Sam had to suppress a shudder. It felt like Cas was staring into his very soul, which was the last place he wanted anyone to be. Besides maybe in his mind, but it was a little late for that.  
“This demon that is possessing your friend. Do not kill it.”  
Well damn if Sam's curiosity wasn't piqued instantly. “Why not?”  
Cas squinted in a way that was undoubtedly supposed to be a glare, but it just made Sam think that the angel was near-sighted. “That is not information freely given.”  
“Please?” Sam tried. “Look, we don’t ask for much – “  
“Yes, you do.”  
“Okay, maybe we do. But what we ask for is extremely small when you consider that we’re trying to stop the apocalypse. I think we deserve to know what we’re up against.”  
“Heaven does not seem to agree. Capture the demon, but do not kill it. Call me as soon as it is done,” Cas ordered with a tone of finality, and for a moment, Sam saw the angel as the warrior he was. But in the next instant, he was gone, and Sam was waking up in a much more real motel room.

************

Dean was not happy to hear about Castiel's demand. Granted, he didn't want to hurt the Doctor, and he sure as hell wasn't about to let Sam use his freaky powers to kill the demon, but he had a natural aversion towards any orders that didn't come from his dad or Bobby.  
More importantly, though, he noticed the way that Sam tensed as he delivered the news. He was well aware that his brother was still out for blood, but Sam’s irritation was palpable – practically vibrating with impatience  
“You all right, Sam?”  
Sam looked up from the laptop, wide-eyed and innocent. “Yeah. Fine.”  
“Really?” The disbelief was obvious in his voice.  
“Yeah, Dean. Really. Why?”  
“You realise we have to do what Cas says?” He could hardly believe he was saying it himself, but it was the truth. If Cas's job was to help stop the apocalypse, then they had to do what he suggested. Disobeying direct orders is what had earned them a body count on multiple occasions.  
“You don't honestly believe the Doctor has anything to do with the Seals?”  
“No, I don't. The demon does, though.”  
“And it was just a coincidence that it possessed the Doctor? Dean, I didn't even know demons could possess anything that isn't human. And now the exorcisms aren't working? There is something going on here!”  
Sam had a point. Of course he did; Dean wasn't stupid. He understood that something really freaking weird was going on here. “So what, are we just supposed to sit back and let this thing wear the Doctor around?”  
“No! Of course not, Dean. I'm just saying . . . what if we don't call Cas right away? You know he won't tell us anything if we do. So maybe we question the demon for a while. Just enough to get some answers for once.”  
And okay, yeah, Dean recognised that his brother had a point. He was sick and tired of being left in the dark by the God Squad. But still, the alternative plan didn't sit right with him. “And what, we're just going to hope the demon tells us everything? Because I don't know about you, but I'm not exactly good with the idea of torture when our friends are involved.”  
Sam sighed and pulled the bitchface that meant he was trying to amend for something he said wrong. “I didn't say 'torture – '”  
“Well, you didn't have to.”  
That was very clearly the end of the conversation.

************

Rose didn't know how to drive the TARDIS. The Doctor had tried to teach her before, but it was still all Greek to her. There was some kind of call-back button, she knew, that sent the TARDIS back to the last time and place it left (only a few seconds later to avoid any paradoxes). She had no idea where that button was, but she had to pretend she knew what she was doing, because she would rather stare into the heart of the TARDIS again than have the Winchesters making fun of her.  
“You have no idea what you're doing, do you?” Dean questioned as she turned the same knob around for the third time. She only messed with the knobs. Knobs were useless unless paired with a button or a lever.  
The first time the Doctor ever tried to teach her to drive, the very first (and most important, he had pressed) function he had taught her was the return-to-sender. It was on the closest section of the control panel, and it was a button. A large one. But there were a metric shit-ton of buttons to choose from.  
Rose was trying not to panic. She had faced Daleks, Cybermen, werewolves, and the like without panicking; the Doctor needed her now more than ever. Only one shot to get this right. No pressure.  
She brought her hand down decisively on the glowing green button to her right, sighing heavily when the TARDIS's engine began to whir. At least she got her going. That was half the battle.  
Almost immediately after they got airborne, both hunters stumbled, clutching at each other for balance. Rose didn't even bother to suppress a laugh. Her heart was still pounding in her ears, adrenaline and fear making her giddy. “Lost your space legs, boys?” she teased, but it sounded weak even to her own ears. Sam at least threw a shaky smile her way, but it barely concealed his concern.  
It's always impossible to keep track of time when travelling through it. It may have taken a second; it may have taken a year, but they were all unprepared for the sudden stillness as they landed and took a minute or two to catch their breaths and re-learn balance.  
“Did it work?” Dean questioned immediately, hovering by the doors nervously.  
“Of course it did,” Rose shot, but even she was uncertain.  
“Only one way to find out.” Sam pushed open the door with a confidence that none of them felt, and Rose thought she might faint from relief when the first thing she saw was the back door to 221B Baker Street.  
“Sherlock!” she yelled, pounding on the door. Normally she would have been a little more considerate, but she really had no idea how long she had been gone relative to when she left. What if she was gone longer than the few seconds promised by the TARDIS? What if hours or even days had passed?  
What if she was too late?  
She pounded harder. “Sherlock! Mrs. Hudson! Please, someone! I've brought the – !” The door swung open quickly, and she almost tumbled forward, only Sam's arm on her elbow keeping her upright. “Winchesters . . . ” she finished softly.  
Sherlock eyed them shrewdly from the doorway, eyes passing over Rose and Sam quickly but lingering on Dean. “Oh. Winchester. I certainly wasn't expecting you. How was Hell?”  
Dean snarled, but Rose recognised the curiosity that Sherlock always possessed. It was an offensive comment, yes, and she was almost positive Sherlock was aware of it. But it was still more of a genuine question.  
“You should see it for yourself sometime,” Dean bit, and Rose was legitimately proud of him for thinking of a good comeback.  
Sherlock didn't seem to notice, his attention immediately sweeping over Sam even as Dean scowled. Sherlock was giving him the once-over he gave everyone he ever came into contact with. It was obvious he saw something he didn’t like, but Sam gave a little, desperate shake of his head. For once, Sherlock took the hint.  
“I believe I’ve solved our little exorcism problem,” he said instead, turning swiftly on his heel and retreating into the apartment. They knew enough of Sherlock to recognise the invitation and followed closely.  
221B hadn’t changed much since the last time the Winchesters had visited, although they noticed that there were now several bullet holes in the wall that the smiley face was drawn. While they were curious about the story behind them, they had more pressing matters to attend to.  
The apartment was hauntingly neat and silent. The Winchesters expected some signs of a struggle or, at the very least, some threats originating from where the demon was being kept.  
“Did you trap the demon after all?” Rose asked, shifting her weight nervously as Sherlock filed through stack upon stack of unorganised papers on his desk, evidently searching for something.  
“He seems perfectly content as is.”  
“Where is everyone?” Sam was hoping against hope that they were all somewhere safe.  
“I have advised Mrs. Hudson to remain in her room and lay salt at every entrance. John is out with a friend.” For all his claims of sociopathic apathy, they could all hear the slight inflection of scorn.  
So the thing about their relationships is that they don't talk about them. Ever. By some sort of silent, mutual agreement, the topic had not once come up in conversation.  
Well . . . Okay, maybe that wasn’t entirely true. When John had found out that the Winchesters were an “item” (John’s words, not theirs), there had been a fair amount of discussion about it. Not to say that he was surprised considering their levels of co-dependency, but he was still trying to work around the incest thing. All things considered, he’s been doing quite well.  
But back to the matter of things: Sherlock finally gave up searching for whatever it was he needed, huffing in frustration and whirling around to meet Sam eye-to-eye. Even though Sherlock was slightly shorter than Dean, he was the only person who could make the younger Winchester feel so physically small.  
“Sam. What is the exorcism?” When Sam floundered for a moment, deciding whether or not to speak, Sherlock grew impatient and demanded, “Go on!”  
“Uh, Regna terrae, cantate Deo, psa – “  
“Stop. In English.”  
“Um . . . Roughly, it’s something like . . . ‘Kingdoms of Earth, sing to – “  
“Exactly! Kingdoms of Earth. The Doctor is not from Earth, so the exorcism doesn’t work.”  
“But the demon’s from Earth,” Dean started to argue.  
“No, the demon is from Hell, if what you’ve told me is correct. I hope you’re not so narrow-minded to believe that only humans are allowed an afterlife.”  
Dean opened his mouth to respond, but immediately thought better of it. There was no sense in fighting a battle he could only ever lose.  
“Okay, great,” he said instead. “So we know why it doesn’t work, but it’s not much use because there’s no references to freaking aliens anywhere in the Bible!”  
“So what,” Sam asked. “Are we just going to hand the Doctor over to Cas?”  
“What?” Oh, shit. They probably should have filled Rose in on Cas’s instructions. “If you think you’re handing the Doctor over to anyone – “  
“Rose, we’re not – “  
“You’re supposed to be the experts!”  
“Well, yes, but – “  
“Best hunters in the world!”  
“ – we’ve never had to deal with – “  
“Um, hello?”  
It was a miracle the smaller voice was heard over their shouting, but it made all four of them freeze in their tracks. They didn’t need to look to know that John was standing at the top of the staircase, looking confused and overwhelmed. That was usually what he looked like when Sherlock’s antics were involved, anyway.  
“Hi, John!” Rose exclaimed, her huge smile straining and obviously fake as she embraced the older man in greeting. “Long time, no see. Well, relatively speaking, anyway.”  
John seemed to shake himself out of something because in a heartbeat he was smiling back warmly. “Oh, hello, Rose. How’ve you been?”  
There was a collective sigh as they exchanged a few polite words before his attention shifted to the Winchesters.  
“Hello, boys,” he greeted kindly. “Um. I don’t mean to be rude, but what are you all doing here?”  
“Oh, you know,” Dean responded before anyone could stop him. “Just passing through. Thought we’d stop by.”  
He knew he’d said something wrong when John’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline.  
“You just happened to be passing through London?”  
“Yeah, well, we were with Rose and the Doctor, so.” Thank God for witty younger brothers.  
John looked like he didn’t believe them in the least, but he thankfully just sighed and announced that he was going to leave until whatever they were up to had been sorted out. “Not that it isn’t nice to see you all again, but I really don’t want to be involved in whatever it is.”  
As soon as the door snapped shut, it was as if a collective trance had been broken. Sherlock immediately strode towards a side room, demanding that Sam and only Sam follow him.  
“Hey, what are we supposed to do?” Dean objected. He wasn’t going to let Sam out of his sight so easily, which wasn’t surprising, especially considering recent events.  
“Talk to the demon,” Sherlock responded shortly before slamming the door behind Sam. Dean grumbled but made his way to John’s room anyway, Rose in tow.

************

“What is it?” Sherlock immediately inquired, motioning for Sam to take a seat while he himself plucked a couple of books from his desk drawer.  
“What do you mean?”  
“I’m referring to whatever it is you’re addicted to. You obviously don’t want your brother to know, which is understandable, but I’m curious.”  
Sam fidgeted nervously in his seat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  
Sherlock rolled his eyes and silently pleaded for patience. “I’m not an idiot, Samuel. You’re practically vibrating in your seat. You keep clenching and unclenching your hands, but most notably, your hand keeps twitching as if you mean to reach inside your jacket and keep changing your mind. I can see the outline of what is either a container or a flask in your inner left-hand pocket. Your skin is paler than normal, and the circles under our eyes are darker, which could normally be brushed off as side-effects of your brother’s trip to Hell, but I know you two, and I know that he’s been making you treat yourself well since he returned. There are other indications, but they are based on assumptions. Now, I didn’t think you the kind of person to start anything, but if you need a quick fix, I’m sure you can find whatever you need somewhere around here.”  
Sam scoffed and smiled slightly. He wasn’t sure whether he should be offended that Sherlock was offering him drugs or pleased that he was willing to share. “You’re right, but I seriously don’t need anything.”  
“At least have the courtesy to tell me what could possibly – “  
“Trust me,” he dismissed with a small laugh, “You don’t want to know.”  
“Oh, but I do.” Sherlock pulled up a chair and sat forward eagerly. Sam couldn’t help but think that he looked like a small child on Christmas. “Your secret is safe. I don’t anticipate the day that I pass up a chance to watch your brother live in blissful idiocy.”  
Sam wanted to laugh and make a comment about how nothing in their lives has ever been blissful. He also maybe wanted to cry about the same fact.  
Sherlock gave him a calculating look, less intense than the one earlier. “I will figure it out, you know.”  
“Yeah, I know. But I’m taking this secret to the grave with me, if I can.”  
“So be it.” He handed Sam one of the books and started in on the other. “Here. Help me find a reference to aliens. If there is one. Revelations is a good place to start.”

************

Not even an hour later, they had found one that could maybe, possibly, if it were squinted at the right way, pass as a reference to aliens.  
“Learn anything?” Sam asked, entering John’s room with more caution than he would usually. He knew he could smite the demon with a thought if he needed to, but his main concern was seeing the Doctor in such a state. He didn’t think he could bear seeing his friend with a wicked smile and black eyes. He had come to the point where he could smell the blood in a demon before he ever saw it, and that was more terrifying than anything.  
“Oh, yeah,” Dean replied, even those simple syllables dripping in sarcasm. “We learned about the price of tea in China and the proper pronunciation of ‘twat.’”  
“You’re still saying it wrong.”  
Against his better judgement, Sam’s eyes snapped up to where the demon sat on the bed, shamelessly wearing the Doctor. He certainly looked comfortable in someone else’s skin. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that his eyes weren’t black or red or, God forbid, white.  
“Hello, Sam,” he greeted cheerfully, and it sounded so similar to his usual tone that Sam had to remind himself that this was not the Doctor. “Word on the street is that you’re one of the brightest hunters out there. The bar’s not that high, but still. So,” he leaned forward. Unlike when Sherlock did it, the gesture felt downright menacing. “Have you figured it out yet?”  
Sam clenched his jaw and ignored the question, instead passing Dean the Bible, already marked and opened to the correct page, and turning his attentions to Rose, who was chewing her nails in the corner.  
“Hey. You okay?”  
She sighed heavily, never taking her eyes off the Doctor. “Not really. I remember once he was kind of possessed by this absolute horror of a woman named Cassandra. But she was an actual human, not a demon.”  
Sam didn’t even want to know how that was possible. “Well, demons were all human once. So there’s not really much difference.” When all he got in response was a wide-eyed stare, he stumbled over himself to backtrack. “I mean, I don’t know if that’s any consolation, but – “  
“Okay, what of it?” Dean interrupted. “This doesn’t have anything to do with Martians.”  
“Aliens,” Sam and Rose corrected at once.  
“Martians are, uh, are from Mars,” Rose explained patiently. “The Doctor’s from Gallifrey.”  
“Okay, fine, be politically correct all you want, but I still don’t get – “  
“Let me guess,” the demon sneered. “That’s the passage from Revelations, yeah? I do hope you’re not using a modern translation.”  
“Oh, excuse me, while I go get my copy of the first Bible,” Dean shot back.  
“’Then I saw three evil spirits that looked like frogs,’” the demon quoted, his distaste showing oddly on the Doctor’s face. “’They came out of the mouth of the dragon, out of the mouth of the beast, and out of the mouth of the false prophet.’ That’s what it says. And it’s wrong. All the modern texts are.”  
“Care to give us the right version, then?” Rose asked boldly, figuring she might as well put in her share of the effort here.  
The demon just rolled its eyes, flashing them black for just a moment in an attempt at intimidation. It was extremely effective.  
“This isn’t your fight, doll. I’d stay out of it if I were you.”  
“Stay out of it? You’re possessing the Doctor. This is more my fight than anyone else’s!”  
The demon scoffed, tongue in cheek, and let his eyes sweep over Rose possessively, but he didn’t address her when he spoke. “It’s one of the seals, boys. Believe it or not, we need your little friend here to break it.  
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but he doesn’t much resemble a frog.”  
“Maybe not, but he knows where I can find the ones that do.”  
“So why are you still here?” Dean asked. It sounded a little too much like a challenge for Sam’s comfort. “What’s stopping you from going out and finding them?”  
“You think it’s easy to crack into a Time Lord’s head? Jesus Christ, all I’ve been getting the entire time you’ve been here is ‘Leave her alone. Don’t you dare hurt her. I swear, if you so much as lay a hand on her . . . ‘ His affection is touching,” he scoffed. “Really. It’s all he fuckin’ thinks about.” The demon sighed and looked skyward. Sam had the ironic thought that he was asking God for patience. “No, this is definitely going to take some time.”  
“Maybe we should just call Cas.”  
“And let him take the Doctor? No way in hell.”  
Sam sighed and buried his face in his hands. He felt exhausted, completely drained, and was coming to the point where he just wanted to fuck it all and let someone else take care of the problem.  
“Okay, then, what do you want to do?”  
“Actually, I had an idea.” Something must have shown on Sam’s face because Dean immediately snapped, “It’s not that freaking surprising, Jesus. I was just thinking earlier that the exorcism is two parts.”  
The exorcism they use is like an abbreviated version of a bastardised version of the real deal, but it works. There are two parts: The first half that expels the demon from its host, and the second half that sends it back to Hell. Except they usually just skipped to the last half, because why bother with expelling the bastard when sending it to Hell does that anyway?  
But Dean had a point. The second half was the one they were having problems with. So why not just use the first half and catch the demon in a Devil’s Trap as it smoked out? It was genius in its simplicity, and Sam was a little jealous that he hadn’t thought of it first.  
“And there are no references to Earth in the first half, so we should be good to go.”  
“As long as John doesn’t mind us painting a Devil’s Trap on his ceiling.”  
“There’s already one there.”  
Upon entering the room, Sherlock had promptly claimed the nearest chair and had proceeded to lose the interest of the rest of the occupants in order to better observe the proceedings. But the Doctor was indeed one of his friends, and he figured that helping to exorcise him was something that friends ought to do for each other. Besides, he had never actually witnessed a proper exorcism before. It was an excellent learning opportunity.  
“Sherlock?” Sam pushed gently when he appeared to drift out of his train of thought.  
“Right. There’s a Devil’s Trap painted under the floorboards. There was a reason I stuck him in here, you know.”  
“All righty, then.” Dean stepped forward, clapping his hands together. “Let’s do this.”

************

They all kind of wished they had gotten some great story out of this. They saved one of the seals from breaking, for crying out loud – shouldn’t that warrant an interesting retelling at the very least?  
Not so much, apparently. The most interesting part was that Rose had insisted on doing the exorcism herself, which she did with halting line breaks and terrible pronunciation, but it got the job done. The smoked-out demon circled the Trap for the amount of time it took to call Castiel down to take care of it. They were gone with a flutter of wings and the blink of an eye.  
The Doctor was unconscious, but that didn’t stop Rose from holding him close, as if afraid he would disappear if she let him go. She kept muttering assurances, pressing kisses into his temple. They were all pretty sure he wasn’t aware of any of it, but none of them said a word about. Rose never once let go of him even after he regained consciousness, making sure to keep one hand on him at all times.  
By the time the Doctor woke up, John had returned and, after several failed attempts at trying to fill him in on what had happened, had insisted that, no disrespect, but he really didn’t want to know. John was still adjusting to how his normal civilian life had been turned on its head after moving in with Sherlock. He hadn’t had to deal with homicides, time machines, or salt lines before, and all things considered, he was adjusting well. He couldn’t remember any more what it was like to live in ignorance, or to wish that he could live like that again.  
He promptly invited everyone to stay for dinner, as, all antics aside, they were still his friends and a reunion was still a reunion.  
The Doctor sat with his arm around Rose’s shoulders, smiling, laughing, spinning yarns, and doing what he typically did. It was reassuring to see him behaving the way he should. Rose evidently thought so too, as she kept one hand firmly on his knee and her eyes kept darting up towards his face, as if afraid to find something supernatural lingering there. The Doctor noticed, of course, and kissed her gently the next time he caught her. That seemed to put her at ease for a bit.  
Sherlock saw and decided to give John a kiss of his own.  
“What was that?”  
“It was a kiss, John,” Sherlock answered matter-of-factly. “It’s apparently an appropriate thing to be doing at the moment.”  
Rose blushed, but the Doctor recognised that Sherlock wasn’t trying to poke fun at them. As someone who legitimately did not understand what was appropriate and when, he was just following what he observed. John didn’t respond to the unspoken question, instead chuckling and leaning a little closer.  
Sam saw the chance and seized it, interlacing his fingers with Dean’s between them. He was going for nonchalant, but the look his brother sent him was anything but. Dean wasn’t one for PDA and had made that point perfectly clear in the past. But since he had gotten back from Hell, Sam couldn’t keep his hands off him.  
Seemed like he and Rose understood each other.  
Looking around the room had him feeling nostalgic of when things were simple. Before the apocalypse, before the angels, before Dean’s deal and Sam’s powers, when all they did was hunt Wendigos, shifters, and spirits, and didn’t even know that vampires existed. When they actually had a little time to sit down and enjoy moments like these. Sam felt incredibly ancient and exhausted, and it worried him that someone could age so much in less than three years.  
Dean must have felt how tense Sam was, or else seen something on his face, because he was suddenly delivering a kiss of his own. Sam smiled at the symmetry of it.  
“Will you two be all right getting back?” John asked.  
“Yeah, we should be fine,” Dean responded casually. Comfortably. “Cas was the one who wanted us out here, so the least he could do is take us back.”  
“Right, so about these angels you’ve been associating with,” the Doctor interjected, looking half concerned and half fascinated. “They’re not . . . statuesque at all?”


End file.
